The Third Her
by Punzie the Platypus
Summary: Phineas convinces Charity to host Jenny Lind at their NY mansion for a week, despite Charity's misgivings. She and the girls end up taking Jenny to see the Barnum Circus, where Phineas makes a dramatic decision that impacts the opinions of all who know him well. In the end, Charity finds her jealousy slipping away as she and Jenny discuss the third /her/ in his life: the show.


_**Soli Deo gloria**_

 **DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own The Greatest Showman.**

 **So, watching The Greatest Showman, I didn't** **dislike** **Jenny Lind. Like, she was meant to bring trouble and drama and scandal and I don't like some of her actions (*coughingkissingP.T.*), but I feel like she's a sympathetic character. And let's be honest: PT was totally leading her on. So, here are some thoughts on this weird kind of love-triangle.**

When Phineas told her that Jenny Lind was to stay at their grand mansion for her last few nights in New York, Charity hesitated to give her assent. She listened to the list of persuasive reasons he presented her with—how they needed all the time they could for the last plans and rehearsals for her nationwide tour; how they'd save money not putting her up in her expensive suite (for Jenny Lind, renown Europe and soon the world over, had to have the best, and unfortunately, it was all on the Barnums' dime, as they were the ones who brought her to America)' how lonely she was, all by herself besides servants at her fancy hotel room. "I think her spirits would improve if she came here," Phineas told Charity. "She needs friendly faces. You and the girls would be perfect. She needs companionship."

Charity couldn't help but mull over that last word, that word choice— _companionship_ —as she said, "It would be such a long drive out to the city from the mansion every day for rehearsals."

"I do it every day already," Phineas said. "She won't mind the commute. This can be the chance for her to get a moment to breathe before she strikes out on this tour. A few days in the countryside, visiting with you and the girls, would be the perfect vacation for her before she has to work every day. I've never been on a national tour, but I've gathered the feeling that they're exhausting." Phineas finished loosening his tie and began unbuttoning his shirt. It had been a long day; he'd been running around dealing with last-minute details with an increasingly frustrating Phillip and attending to telegraph messages and a thousand other thing. It was his last day at the circus until he returned from the opera tour.

"I can imagine," Charity said. Her lips were pressed into a thin line; she wished she could convince Phineas to send someone else in his place, or cut the tour short, or just stay home. But none of this was possible. She knew her pleading would fall on deaf ears. She was tired of her words never being heard, never being heeded; all her advice and thoughts on Caroline and her ballet, about the circus, about Jenny Lind, were never heard. Phineas Taylor Barnum was a man with strong convictions, and once he believed in something, he could never be convinced otherwise. He saw this nationwide tour as his way of making the name of Barnum a household name in every home in America, a legitimate, proud, honorable name that didn't make people grimace or snort with disgust, like the circus did.

Charity wished he showed more love for the circus. For their girls. For her. For the things in life that _did_ matter.

"So," Phineas said, turning from the open mirror, his shining eyes meeting hers. He couldn't discern the quiet anger at his stubbornness burning under her skin. He looked so ignorant, so like a man wrapped up in his own head so as to not understand what was right in front of him—an angry wife who just wanted her husband to see what _was_ right in front of him, what he was about to lose. "What do you think? Can she stay?"

Charity wanted to say 'No', immediately, but then she thought of Jenny Lind. The woman, as yet, who wasn't a threat. That sounded so suspicious and calculating and Charity felt ashamed of thinking of it, even as it nagged her. Jenny Lind was a woman who'd crossed the entire Atlantic Ocean to a new country and she was staying in an apathetic hotel with lots of fame and admirers, but no friends or family. Charity loved people as much as her husband did, and, putting herself in Jenny's shoes, she felt sorry for her. She was a woman of immense talent, but she must live a lonely life. Charity finally said, "I think it's a fine idea. I will have a guest room set up for her. The girls will love having her."

She felt a little stab of anxiety when she saw the grin grow on Phineas's face. "I knew you wouldn't let her stay there all alone," he said. He crossed the room to their bed she was sitting up in and kissed her brow. "I can't wait to tell her tomorrow." He walked back to the bureau, still smiling, and Charity silently wondered to herself if the decision she was made was wise. Perhaps it was the _right_ decision, but was it the one she should've made?

She decided to make sure Jenny was _never_ lonely, or alone, in her house. She would make sure she never left her and her husband alone in the same room. It was all she could do; what little it would mean, when soon they would be sharing countless train cars together, with nothing but a traveling orchestra to keep them apart. But it was all that she could do.

"Perhaps you can show her the circus while she's here," Charity said. "I'm sure she'd like to see it after hearing so much about it."

Phineas swiveled around; Charity could recognize the defense under all the niceness of his light tone. "I don't think we'll have time for it. I have plans to finalize and she has rehearsals. We'll have nice quiet evenings here, though! Just what the doctor ordered before we're busy every day!"

Phineas's back was then turned to Charity, or else he would've seen the insecure look flicker over her face before she sighed, whisked it away, and blew out the bedside lamp, enveloping her half of the room into darkness.

* * *

When Jenny Lind alighted from the Barnums' private carriage, she found herself surrounded by pretty dresses and heaps of giggles as Caroline and Helen flanked her. There was something delightful about this pretty lady coming to visit them; they'd barely been able to talk to her at the private reception; it had been such a grown-up occasion and they had felt so shy. Now her pretty little boots joined theirs as they leaped down the pebble-covered driveway. They talked excitedly as Daddy led her up the front porch to where Mommy stood (for Daddy was there to hold her hand and help her down from the carriage, the gentleman the girls knew he was); it was a light introduction, as they'd all already met. The girls beamed as Jenny Lind said, "I wanted to thank you for this generous offer and your welcome hospitality. I have to admit, between my concerts in Europe and now New York, hotel rooms aren't as friendly as I wish they would be."

"That is completely understandable," Charity said, wearing her hostess's smile. She took Jenny's elbow, prompting Phineas to let her hand go, and led her into the house.

The two women broke into light, cheerful chatter as they proceeded on a tour of the grand mansion and grounds. Caroline and Helen watched the footman retrieve Jenny's luggage—all the suitcases and trunks and bags. The girls gaped as the seventh bag was added to the pile. "Are those all her _clothes?_ " Caroline wanted to know.

"I suppose so," Phineas said, taking up a couple of the heavy leather cases. "But remember, she had a long trip across the ocean, and a long trip across the United States. It'll require a lot of clothes."

"Have you packed these many trunks for the tour, Daddy?" Caroline wondered. She took up a bag and trailed behind her father; she, like her sister, always sought to do what Daddy did. To do what he did, to be like him.

"Oh, not so many. Suits are smaller than ball gowns," Phineas said, smiling.

Helen brought up the rear, dragging a bag through the dusty ground. "I don't want you to go, Daddy," she said, sounding sad.

Phineas turned back for her; he was easily able to add her load to the bags he was already carrying. "I know, Helen. But I'll be back soon, and the sooner I go, the sooner I'll be back!"

Helen sighed as she leaned against him. "I know. But I wish you didn't have to go at all."

Phineas sighed; he felt . . . somewhat the same; he would miss his girls, all three of them, very dearly; but he was also really excited about making a national headlining tour. This was going to put his name in every newspaper across America; people would hear the name of Lind and think, "That's the most beautiful voice I've ever heard." People would read the name of Barnum and instead of being looked down upon, instead of being seen as dirt, poor, and worth nothing, people would see something of value. Phineas was _so excited_ about this national tour; he, of course, didn't let this on to his sad-faced daughter.

They found Charity and Jenny in Jenny's prepared room; it was a light room, full of white walls and lace curtains and glass chandeliers; a window half hidden behind a light curtain shone a spray of sunshine across the sand-colored floor. It was tall, echo-y. It was beautiful. Jenny stood like a princess in the center of it, looking up when she saw Phineas and the children personally lugging in her luggage. "Oh, Phineas, this is marvelous," she said, coming to touch his elbow. "This house was furnished with exquisite taste."

Phineas bent his head. "Well, that honor must be given to Charity. She's made a home out of this house."

"Thank you," Charity said. She tried not to see the genuine smile gracing the face of Jenny as she looked upon her husband.

The girls brought their attention away down to the ground. They sat by the suitcases and Caroline said, "Do you want some help unpacking?"

"Well. . ." Jenny said, coming down to sit by them. Her cream-colored dress pooled around her. The girls gravitated toward her, drawn to her like magnets. "I'm only to stay for a few days, but then, I must choose what dresses I am to wear in that time." She leaned forward, her voice low as she drew them in, like she was telling them a story, "Would you like to help me?"

The girls exchanged wide-eyed faces before eagerly nodding. Charity and Phineas took leave, Charity clearing her throat promptingly when Phineas looked like he was just going to stand there watching them for forever; she closed the door behind her and Phineas said, "What did I say? The girls love her!"

"Oh, believe me, the girls aren't the only ones," Charity said, not meeting his eyes as she strode down the hall.

"Come now, Charity. She's happy to be here and we're happy to have her," Phineas said.

"Oh, yes," Charity said, not wanting to say more due to the tightening in her throat.

"Charity?" Phineas said, just when she was halfway down the spiraling staircase.

Charity couldn't remember the last time he said her name so longingly. "Yes, Phin?" she said, stopping to look at him properly, her graceful hand light on the smooth handrail.

"Can you have the cook make fish for supper? Jenny says it reminds her of Sweden. I want to make her feel at home, of course," Phineas said.

A fleeting, jealous thought flew through Charity's mind before she could stop it. _I wonder if you want to make this house_ her _home._ She said, "Of course. I'll see to it."

Phineas's grateful smile made her ache. "Thank you, Charity." He looked back at the guest room with a longing look before sighing and heading to his office to sign some more papers.

Charity gazed long after him long after he was gone from sight before she inhaled, picked up her heavy feet, and trod to the kitchen, seeing about ordering some smelly fish.

* * *

It was a delightful, painful, memorable, agonizing week. Charity observed everything, said little, wished she could say more. She saw how Phineas spent more time home during this one week than he had in the past month—what, with the Transatlantic trip and the circus and all. She saw how the girls warmed to Jenny just as much as Jenny warmed to the girls. They played tea party and frolicked in the gardens. Jenny spun her parasol as she and the girls walked the mansion's gardens' paths. They roamed through New York's most fashionable shops, petting fabrics and oohing and ahhing over the latest dress cuts.

Charity was there with them every step of the way, though. She accepted tea with a raised pinkie and held her own pink parasol, gazed at the pretty things displayed prettily in the seamstress's window. She offered pleasant conversation that was polite, but perhaps not as genuine as she was usually capable of. She was wary of Jenny, and she knew it was foolishness, that Jenny knew nothing, was as innocent as a lamb; and her husband loved her, loved being around people, loved people, and meant nothing by anything he did, and that she was just being paranoid. She wanted to pin this all on her being silly; it was all her fault, for it was not either of their faults, as it was unfounded.

She wished that it was all completely unfounded. But then she found herself watching moments before her and feeling that pinprick of worry. She felt frozen in time, a statue unable to do anything but watch the growing horrors before her.

They were petty, small moments, that should've meant nothing. Jenny's fingers touching Phineas's as he passed her the plate of fish at dinner; the light growing in his eyes the moment he stepped into her presence; the gentlemanly way he helped her in and out of the carriage. They were nothing.

What began to disturb Charity not about Jenny, but about Phineas, was when one fine morning, the day before Jenny and Phineas were due to leave for their extensive tour, the _girls_ had the bright idea of taking Jenny down to the circus. All their shows were in the evenings, and they had an unproductive morning. "I've never yet been to see the circus yet," Jenny said. "Have I truly been a visitor to New York if I haven't been to the Barnum Circus?"

"It's like what Daddy says," Helen said.

"'If you haven't been to the Barnum Circus lately, you haven't been to the Barnum Circus,'" Caroline grinned.

"I thoroughly agree with your father," Jenny said, beaming as she met the girls' excited eyes. "Charity," Jenny said, picking her skirts and hurrying to Charity's desk, where she sat writing out household receipts. "Caroline and Helen have brought it to my attention that I have yet to see Phineas's show. I couldn't think of anything more thrilling. Today would be the best day, given how busy we will be tomorrow."

Charity dug her brain out of her receipts—would the baker need to have another order in the next day or two, or could it be put off 'til next week? She had to pay the gardener—she'd never been responsible for paying the gardener before, and he had two assistants besides—for one house's garden? Mother never mentioned this before—it was so frivolous—"The circus?" she said absentmindedly, like she was just waking up.

"Yes. We might see Phineas down there, besides the acts," Jenny said.

Charity's smile faded; did Jenny really want to see their Bearded Lady and Dog Boy and World's Heaviest Man, or P.T. Barnum, Ringmaster?

"Mommy, please?" Caroline said, coming up besides Jenny.

"I want to see Phillip!" Helen gushed.

Charity smiled a little; the girls were like kittens around a big gentle dog when it came to Phillip. They loved him dearly, and he was surprisingly adept at handling their energetic questions and clingy hands.

"Oh, Phillip Carlyle, who attended the Queen's reception with us?" Jenny said. "It would be a pleasure to see him again."

Charity hesitated; was Jenny just finding any reason to go to the circus, hiding her true ulterior motives behind a curious need to see and meet everyone else?

Charity gulped; she did not want to be a person who lived with constant suspicions, reading into people's motives and thinking them all ill. She was not her father, sharp and exacting, not kind and patient. "Of course," she said, smiling, as she rifled her receipts together. She would tend to them later; for, of course, she could not leave them alone forever. They would get taken care of—just . . . later. "Let us eat a quick lunch and then take the carriage. It'll be a nice surprise for Phineas."

Helen and Caroline whooped and Jenny smiled as they grabbed her hands and danced around in a circle, singing in their sweet, childish voices one of their father's songs. It was a favorite of theirs long before he became a success, back when he made up songs not for ecstatic crowds, but for his two little daughters who loved his heartfelt songs more than an entire theater filled with people did.

Lunch eaten and parasols fetched, the bumpy, dusty hour-and-longer ride down to the Barnum Circus was completed. The carriage was drawn up to the entrance and the driver had his hand ready for the alighting lady. The girls jumped up and down and Charity smiled as the building emerged before her. This was her husband's dream; this was his pride and joy. She took immense pride and joy in his success and in the success of all the members of the circus cast who'd all become like family to her and the girls.

Jenny emerged like a queen. Her hungry eyes ate up the place she'd only heard tale of from numerous witnesses; she'd read countless stories of this building even in the sitting rooms of Sweden. This was Phineas's claim to fame, right in front of her.

"Jenny!" She was drawn out of her reverie by girlish voices. She blinked, drawn out from under the spell, to see Caroline and Helen holding out their hands to her, ready to lead her into a place that truly held spellbound all who saw it.

"Pardon me," Jenny said, regaining her composure, "I am overwhelmed." She bobbed her head and let the girls take her to the front door. She curtseyed when O'Malley standing behind the ticket window recognized her and waved a hand at her, suddenly abashed and self-conscious in front of such a famous lady. The girls flew by him and brought her through the door, through the lit hall into the grand showroom.

Dust mites danced in the combined efforts of the sun splashing through the skylight and the stage lights being adjusted by crew. Voices echoed across the vast room; crew and cast members sat and stood and worked in odd places. A rehearsal was taking place, Jenny realized. The young trapeze siblings squatted in the rafters and spun around on a single circle falling from a rope disappearing into the ceiling. Lettie fanned herself as she alternated vocal exercises with the Lord of Leeds; Tom Thumb ran his horse into perfect circles around the backup dancers running a routine in the dusty center. Stilts wavered but slightly under the watchful eye of the careful Irish Giant; he walked around Phillip, who looked so ordinarily dressed amid these oddities. His hair was ruffled, his expensive dress shirt sleeves all rolled up, his hands rolling in the air as he commanded the room. He drew in one of the Albino Twins at her turn and waved Dog Boy to run through the hoops set up for him. Fire blew from another lady's mouth as the baby elephants were brought in by their trainers. It was loud, voices crowding together and music piling in; it was confused chaos, all lit up and dangerous and scary and _terribly_ exciting. It was . . . amazing.

"I spoke too soon," she whispered softly, "now, I am overwhelmed."

Charity drew by her side, smiling despite herself. She watched the wonder grow on Jenny's face, as it grew on the face of anyone blessed enough to get just an hour of her husband's show. This was what Phineas wanted, originally, all he should've really wanted: to see joy, pure joy, on people's faces. To bring light and happiness to their lives. It was nice to see that that wasn't gone, at least.

Caroline and Helen darted away, undaunted by the huge show going on all around them. They might be the most sought-after entertainment in the city, but they were also their family friends. The girls dodged and dove past the clowns and the dancers, around Lettie, making her say, "Hey girls!" until they got to Phillip.

"Let's try that twist one more time," he said, his hands gesturing before he felt two sudden weights come sit on his shoes. He looked down to see two faces looking up, beaming, as their tiny hands clutched his legs like a lifeline. "Now what do we have here? It seems that I have two big BUGS ON MY LEGS!" he said loudly, playing gruff as he caught up Helen into his arms; she shrieked with laughter as he placed her on his shoulders. His head tilted up. "I caught one," he said to Helen's upside face, making her giggle.

"Phillip, guess who's been staying at _our_ house?!" Helen squealed.

"I have no—" Caroline took his hand and turned him. He saw Charity, and he saw Jenny Lind, world-renown opera singer, standing in his dusty ring. " . . . idea." He stopped and stared. And when your ringmaster-on-duty stopped leading and started staring at something, odds are that whoever he's leading will stop and stare at _exactly_ what he was stopping to stare at.

All eyes flew onto Jenny. Gasps escaped, all stood still. Anne gulped. Tom Thumb stared with a gaping mouth. A few took a couple of tentative steps back, unsure what to do. They had never (thanks to Phineas) been properly introduced to Jenny, and it was one thing being a member of the audience watching her perform, and quite another thing for her to be a member of their audience watching _them_ perform.

Jenny looked unfazed by the sudden attention. She bobbed, her skirts flitting against the ground, and said, "Please, don't stop on my account. I've come to see the circus with the girls." Here she indicated the bear cubs crawling all over Phillip (whom he barely noticed) and Charity by her side (Charity suddenly felt guilty for being counted as one of Jenny's friends, when she did not quite feel like she had been a friend to Jenny).

"No, please," Phillip said, stepping forward the best he could (the one leg with Caroline holding onto it again caused it to drag like a limp). He took Jenny's hand and said, "Welcome to the circus, Miss Lind. Allow me to introduce you to everyone."

Jenny smiled and allowed such introductions. This was what Phillip had wanted all along—for his circus oddities—for his friends, his love— _Anne_ —to meet this famous lady, on equal terms as any of those who sipped champagne with her at Phineas's showy after-show reception. They were all of the same industry, all of the entertaining, people-pleasing, show biz, and he wanted them to meet together as equals. And they did.

Lettie blushed and said, "Your voice rivals the angels, Miss Lind," to which Jenny said kindly, "Well, I've heard that yours beats out the angels, which is quite the better accomplishment, I'm sure," making Lettie blush, thank her, and then gush to the nearest performer once Jenny's attention was turned to the next in line.

Tom Thumb flirted with her, Leia, one of the Albino Twins, felt gorgeous after Jenny told her she had the most fantastic hair she had ever seen, and a dance was promised to the Lord of Leeds, making him chuckle uncontrollably as if he'd never been so blessed in all of his life. Everyone _loved_ Jenny; she looked so enigmatic, so unapproachably beautiful, but she was truly down-to-Earth, despite all her divine beauty. She attracted all the attention of every room she walked into; Charity knew this to be true in all circumstances.

After all the introductions were done (Anne avoiding Phillip's eyes as they trailed after her after he introduced her, proudly, in a warm voice that hurt Anne, to Jenny), Jenny faced the crowd of admirers. She said, "It is a truly a pleasure to meet the acquaintance of the most fantastic entertaining team in the world."

"Hey, we aren't all here!" Lettie said. She hit Phillip on the arm. "Where's Barnum? Why isn't he here?"

"I told you he wasn't due back here until after the tour," Phillip said, trying to keep his voice low.

"So Charity and Miss World-Renown Opera Singer can make time in their busy schedules to come visit us, but Mr. Founder of this Circus, the _Prince of Humbug_ , can't come show his face?" Lettie said. She scoffed. "Someone's gotta tell that man he needs to get his priorities straight."

Phillip cleared his throat; the look she gave him told him that _he_ was the someone she was strongly implying. He said, "P.T.'s finishing telegraph messages to all of Jenny's tour spots at the office. In the meantime, we have been presented with the opportunity of a lifetime. Miss Lind," here Phillip donned his most professional, inviting ringmaster voice, "are you prepared to watch The Greatest Show on Earth?"

All the performers exchanged secret, mischievous glances, like they were all in on some big in-joke that Jenny was obviously not privy to. She looked confused. "I'm sorry, are you saying what I think you're saying?" she said.

Phillip took her hand and guided her to the spectators' seats. "It is _exactly_ what you think it is," Phillip said. He walked backwards, the girls scurrying over to Jenny, giggling. Phillip smiled, held his arms hands out wide. To Charity, to Jenny, he said, "Welcome to Barnum's Circus."

Everyone ran to positions. Everyone was only half dressed in their costumes and makeup, the dusty, sand-coated arena still littered with boxes and pieces of equipment and flecks of straw from the elephants. All disappeared as figures darted into the shadows. Music was poised to play, rustling and whispers pervading the air. It darkened, despite the daylight Jenny knew was surrounding them just outside. She felt her heart in her throat, her pulse pounding out of her sleeve. What adrenaline, what thrill, just in the anticipation! No wonder the crowds kept pouring in. They wanted all that Phineas offered them.

How could he not have shown this to her before? It was almost like he wanted to hide from her what allowed them to meet in the first place. She was just as much interested in his past just as he was in their present and future.

She could feel the ball about to drop when who appeared in the single spotlight but their valiant ringmaster. But it wasn't Phillip, glad to bring her into the world of the circus. It was Phineas, and his wide eyes betrayed them.

He looked around, catching sight of two girls and two women. The girls ran to him, blissfully unaware as they shouted, "Daddy, Daddy!" Charity cleared her throat and straightened. She didn't want to feel guilty, but they'd been caught. She'd known all along, from what she saw with her own eyes, heard with her own ears from Phineas's own mouth, that Phineas never wanted Jenny to see the circus. He never wanted his new life to become intermingled with something everyone thought was fake.

"What is this?" Phineas said, almost to himself. Then his hands spread out. "Stop, stop, stop! Everyone, stop!"

The music didn't come. It all halted, like a horse suddenly drawn to a stop from a leaping gallop. Everyone held their breath.

Phillip hurried into the spotlight. "P.T.," he said, hiding the surprise in his voice as he appraised the man, "didn't think you'd be back before your trip."

"Phillip," Phineas said, thinly veiled disgust marring his voice. He now knew who it obviously was behind all this. He said, "Can I talk to you, in private?"

Phillip stood his ground, his arms folded over his chest. He was an immovable object. "Talk to me about what, P.T.? About giving our illustrious guest a taste of what much of New York enjoys? Of giving her a true Barnum Circus experience?"

Phineas scoffed, shaking his head. Waving his hand to Jenny, he said, "Jenny doesn't want to see this. Jenny and I have to pack, get ready. We don't have time to watch you all rehearse, and you all have to save your strength for tonight's show—we have to give the people what they expect, what they come here for—"

"And what about what I came here for?" Jenny said, standing up.

All eyes flew to Jenny; Phineas's eyes darted to her, even as his body language was gauged in an angry hunch over Phillip. He said, "Jenny—"

"Phineas," Jenny said, alighting from her seat. She stood between the two men, invading the angry tension growing between them. She was a mediator, a calm voice to split them apart. "Phillip meant no harm. I came here with the girls to meet your friends. They are charming—truly, Phineas. I would _love_ to see what made you famous. You saw my talent; now, I want to see yours."

Phineas's face softened. "Jenny, _you're_ my talent," he said.

Phillip's heart sank; he wished he'd imagined the gasp he could hear escape from Lettie in the shadows. He wished he could shield all his friends, all these oddities who leaned on him to protect them and care for them, to stand up for them against bigger bosses, from the words coming from their own fearless leader.

"Phineas," Jenny said in a gentle voice, "you have the unique ability to take anyone and make all the world want them. You also have the ability to make them all want _you_."

Charity stood up. She hoped she was imagining that intimate way Jenny's eyes looked into Phineas's face, even in front of such a captive, horrified audience.

"Why won't you let me come see them?" Jenny said. "They made you who you've become."

"They—" Phineas hesitated. Lettie stepped forward; all the oddities, from Anne Wheeler with her head dipped down and W.D. with his straight burning gaze, to the Irish Giant to Devil Boy to Prince Constantine stepped forward. They hung on, waiting for his next sentence.

"Be careful what you say, P.T.," Phillip said, hiding the anger growing in his voice, "whatever you say now can't be taken back. Everyone will remember whatever you say now, forever."

Charity stepped forward as well; she stood across from Jenny, facing her. Phillip stood stoically in the corner of her eye, but all her focus was on her husband. She wanted him to come clean—come clean to all of them. That his love for being accepted by the world had outgrown the love he had for his circus, his _family_. "Tell them, Phineas," Charity said. "Tell them the truth." That he was ashamed of them, them who had accepted this poor dreamer whom nobody else wanted anything to do with, and made him shine. He was the brains but without them, he had no show. That now that he was growing in fame and credibility in the world, he wanted to hide them away from his rich friends, from the class of society he'd always wanted to accept him.

Phineas's lips trembled, like he was on the edge of confessing. If he stepped off the ledge now and _did_ confess, maybe there would be a chance for forgiveness. Maybe all the people watching him now (including his two daughters, who _knew_ Daddy would do the right thing no matter what) would come to forgive him.

No. Not when he was _so close_. He couldn't risk it. He'd worked so hard for so long to come this far—he wasn't about to lose it.

"Come Jenny, Charity, girls," Phineas said in a rough voice, like he was disguising tears he would not show, "we have to go. Jenny, I've set up a reception tonight at the Grand Ballroom. A sort of last hurrah from your beloved patrons of New York before we head out west—"

"Phineas—" Jenny said, even as he pulled her hand out of the crowd. The distance between them and the circus exit grew shorter and shorter.

"Phineas!" Charity called in a sharp voice. She raced after him after exchanging a helpless look with Phillip, whose face spoke of defeated disappointment. She looked with sad eyes and an apologetic face at the downcast faces all around her. They'd been rejected by the world all their lives—it was hard to know that they could still receive bitter blows. It hurt more to know that it came from someone they'd all trusted with their lives.

"Daddy! Daddy!" Caroline and Helen called after him, confused about his reaction. Why didn't he talk to his friends? Why were they all so sad looking? Why was everyone so angry and mad and sad at him?

Phineas situated a protesting Jenny into the carriage; he stepped back, relieved to be gone from her for once—away from her questioning, wondering eyes—and came face-to-face with Charity. He felt his relief drain from him as Charity's eyes flew past him and she went to move past him to the carriage.

"Charity," Phineas said after her, turning back to her. His hand swept for her. "Charity—"

She affixed steely eyes and a tightened jaw at him. "I can't believe you just did that," she said. "I didn't know you were capable of such cruelty. _How could you?_ "

"Charity," Phineas said, "it's better this way."

"'This way?'" Charity stepped down from the carriage; she was prepared to get away from him as quickly as she could, still too angry at him—but them was fighting words, and she wouldn't back down. "You don't want your new life and your old life to mix. You're _ashamed_ of them, when they are _nothing_ to be ashamed of." Caroline and Helen, worry written all over their scared faces—( _Mommy and Daddy were fighting._ Even through all the money troubles and struggles they shared over their married lives, Mommy and Daddy _never_ yelled, never fought, _never_ lost temper with each other)—clutched at their mother's skirts. Charity put a hand to their hair and said, "It's amazing that you invited Jenny into our home. It's amazing that you aren't ashamed of _us_."

Charity ushered the girls into the carriage, ignoring Phineas's startled, fumbling attempts at exonerating himself. "No," Charity said, turning back to him, her normally loving, kind eyes flashing with righteous anger, "until you can look every one of our friends in the eyes and apologize, don't even try. I don't want to hear it." She wanted to say "I don't want to see you again until you're back from your tour" but even her lover's heart couldn't find it in herself to say this. She didn't want to encourage him to run after Jenny when she was gone. For, after all the hurt he caused, she still loved this stupid, loving man, stupid mistakes and misguided priorities and all.

So she said nothing. Sat down and slammed the door behind her and urged the driver to leave as fast as he could, leaving Phineas staring after them in the flying dust of the back wheels.

Charity gathered her daughters to her sides like a mother hen. They looked scared; Mommy and Daddy _never_ fought; to know that Mommy was so angry with their daddy over things they still didn't fully understand scared them. The not-knowing was scary.

Jenny attempted polite chatter, but Charity wasn't much for the give-and-take of conversation. She answered back quickly, simply, politely. Jenny finally realized the futility of her attempts and pressed her lips together. They all rode back together in silence, the beauty of the country rolling past them once they'd gone beyond the city, but none of them noticed at all; they were too absorbed in the silence inside the rickety carriage.

* * *

The girls sat on Jenny's bedspread and ohhed and ahhed as she got dressed with the assistance of a maid into the night's ensemble. They were disappointed when their mother told them that they were staying home tonight. Why this time? They'd gone the other time!

Charity didn't want her children to be a part of that world. She didn't like them being looked down upon, but she also didn't like the little prima donnas who ruled that world. Their in-between world was just fine. Now, if only their father could see it that way . . .

Jenny approached Charity's door when the footman called for her to come to the carriage; it was so dark and silent, when normally it was so warm and friendly. She hesitated, her knuckles held just over the door. She stepped back; the girls would let her know that she'd gone. She somehow knew that Charity most definitely didn't want to see her at the moment.

So she left. The carriage flew toward the sunset. Charity watched it disappear from her seat by her window. She pretended not to be angry, pretended to not think of her husband and Jenny spending an evening, surrounded by first-class, pretentious high-society citizens, together. She wanted to blame Jenny; she wanted to blame Phineas. But mostly she just blamed herself for letting it happen at all.

* * *

The grandfather clock in the hall struck eleven; Charity heard it as she stood on the balcony overlooking their pebble-pathed driveway. She'd tucked the girls and all their questions into bed hours ago; she'd been determined to occupy herself in some useful trade after that, but ended up playing with Phineas's wishing machine, watching it spin around for hours as she listened to her daughters' soft snores. She couldn't sleep. She ached for Phineas and Jenny to be back home where they were supposed to be, him with her and Jenny in her guest room. So, she couldn't sleep.

She'd seen the carriage pull up. Saw Phineas help Jenny down, both laughing like they'd attending a comedy show rather than an elegant reception. Jenny leaned against him as he helped her down the walk. Charity stood like a watchful statue against the rail and hated the ache encompassing her.

She stood still, the night breeze blowing her blonde hair and ruffling the pink petals of the flowers by her. She was so still, with her thoughts running through her mind trying to pinpoint the moment when everything went _wrong_ , the moment the dreadful feeling came over and it was all _wrong_. She started when she heard a sweet accent say, "Charity, darling, you waited up for us."

Charity donned a smile and turned to Jenny, who came to join her at the railing. Her rich orange hair was slightly sagging from its pinned-up hairstyle; her smile was quick, like champagne had been her friend; her lipstick, however, was perfect. Not in the slightest bit smudged. "I wanted to be awake when you came home," Charity said truthfully.

"That's so good of you," Jenny said. She looked at her hands and then took in the view from the balcony. "It was quite the reception. It's a pity you decided to miss it."

"I was needed here at home," Charity said, a little stiffly. "I never liked those things anyway. I-I couldn't be there."

Jenny affixed her glassy gaze upon her. "Is it because of him?" she said, quite clearly despite the champagne. Charity stared at her without thinking for a moment or two too long. "Because of his behavior this afternoon? I can understand you're quite mad at him." Jenny's voice turned serious. "He feels it; he wants your forgiveness, you know."

"Well, he knows what I want from him and until he does it, I don't think he's sorry for what he's done," Charity said, shaking off the little bit of guilt she felt.

"He _is_ sorry, though he doesn't say it in as many words as that," Jenny said.

"Because the words 'I'm sorry' are too complicated," Charity said a little sarcastically.

"He explained it all to me on the way to and from the reception," Jenny said. "It all made complete sense. The poor man is under such _enormous_ pressure, and he's so _terribly_ busy—"

"Oh, I know that," Charity said coldly, "I know all that and all the other million excuses he's come up with."

"Really, Charity," Jenny said, a little more sternly, "he _is_ sorry. And I believe him. He's _quite_ the remarkable man, you know. He's going to do great things in America, in the world. The circus is just the first step. You watch him: he's going to really become the world's greatest showman. It's all," Jenny yawned, then looked back up, "for the show. He loves the show; it's mesmerizing, what he can do for the show. It's everything he loves, everything he wants."

Jenny couldn't see Charity's eyes fill with tears as she looked straight out over part of the Barnums' small kingdom. Charity sang quietly, only to herself, words she knew her husband believed. " _It's everything you ever want, it's everything you ever need."_ Suddenly, jealousy slipped from her like a blanket. She slowly turned her gaze upon an unassuming Jenny. She no longer burned with white hot jealousy looking at this woman who was obviously falling in love with Phineas (it was hard not to); she felt _sorry_ for her, felt pity for this woman she'd so long held a grudge against for falling for her husband. Charity could see it; Jenny could not. It wasn't her or her. It wasn't either of them. Phineas, at the end of the day, would always love his _show_ —that third her.

"What's that face, Charity dear?" Jenny said, her eyes squinting. "You look so paper-white."

Charity inhaled for the first time in a while and said, "It's nothing. Where—" gulping, "where is Phineas?"

Jenny nodded her head to the balcony entrance. "He's saying goodnight to the girls. I can hear him singing."

Charity, without a word, walked to the girls' room slowly, like a ghost. She stood in the doorway, watching her husband sing tenderly to his sleeping girls as he tucked locks of hair behind their ears and kissed their foreheads. It was awful, knowing how loving he could be, and also how—callous. Senseless. Selfish. How could his priorities fall so out of order? What was the correlation?

Charity didn't realize Phineas had turned around until he said, "Charity. We missed you tonight, Jenny and I."

Charity smiled weakly, holding at her bathrobe. "I missed you, too," she said, accepting his kiss on her cheek with a little wistful wishing and some melancholy. Him and Jenny, that was something concrete. He could've been brought down to Earth to realize the senselessness of it; but this . . . Charity was lost as to how to get him back from _this_. How—how could she get him back when he was leaving?

"—leaving tomorrow," Phineas said.

Charity hadn't heard what he'd been saying. Her blank look must've prompted him. "I'm going to bed. We have to leave early tomorrow." He hesitated, took her hand in his. "Charity. . ."

"Phin," she said. She stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. She said, his eyes on hers, "Goodnight." She didn't want to say "Forget it happened" but she also didn't want to be estranged from him on the eve of a long journey. Her smile didn't quite meet her eyes.

* * *

She watched her daughters chase after their father and Jenny as they rode away bright and early next morning. They'd been fully asleep last night when he came and kissed them goodnight. They knew that he was leaving, and that they would miss him. They didn't want him to go.

Charity didn't run after him, even as her heart did, just like those girls. She no longer felt so worried about Jenny. She knew that whatever feelings Jenny misguidedly let herself become full of would never be reciprocated. She would learn her lesson, just like Charity felt she had.

For it was neither her or her. It was, to Charity's sad recollection, the show. It always hurt, to always remember that until he turned his life around, it wouldn't be Jenny he'd be running toward, or even her. It would always be the show.

Only when he realized where he was going would he stop and turn his life around. But until then, Charity could do nothing. Jenny could do nothing to him. Nothing could touch him. He was becoming the most popular man in the world, just like he wanted. No one could touch him.

How could he know that at the end of the day, the show meant nothing? That the people meant everything? When would he finally figure that out?

Charity didn't know, but she ached for the day when he finally would.

 **It got long. It got** _ **really long**_ **.**

 **But I have a feeling that if Jenny wasn't so into Phineas, she and Charity would've been good friends. It was just P.T. who got between them. It was also fun figuring out the struggle Charity had—she trusted her husband through thick and thin, but also couldn't deny what was right in front of her. (Drama!) Poor Charity. :P  
**

 **Anyways, I hope you liked it. Thanks for reading! Review?  
**


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